The Witch Hunter
by DAWNWRIGHTER
Summary: In a world where the supernatural isn't easy to defeat, hunters rely on three things to get the job done; Knowledge, Magic, and a lot of Dakka. Dean-Centric, Non-Winchester Dean, Dean Macleod, Heavy AU Witch-Dean


**Chapter 1 - The Father and the Mother**

* * *

_Fire._

_So much fire._

_It had been an accident, said our superiors, incorrect coordinates they said._

_It was because of MY error, they said. But I know my superiors were lying; because I triple checked the coordinates before I called in the napalm, and I could tell by the way their eyes looked when they told me I was being discharged from the military._

_They looked desperate._

_But I am one man, a man that In the eyes of many of my fellow soldiers got my squad killed, so they logically believed their superiors over me._

_But I went along with it, and I don't know why I did. Guilt maybe? Anger? I feel a pressure in my chest, but I can't quite figure out what I'm feeling. _

_It was probably a good thing I went along with it too, for when I was finally booted out, at least it was honorably. Full veteran benefits awaited me._

_When the plane landed in Kansas, and I saw Mary for the first time in what felt like the longest year of my life._

_She saw me first, a happy smile graced her lips and tears streamed down her cheeks, she waved to get my attention. _

_But when I saw her, all my pent up emotions built up from months of betrayal came to the forefront. I rushed over to her, where we spent the next few minutes just enjoying each other's company._

_Maybe I just missed her._

* * *

**January 16th, 1978**

**Portland, Oregon, random Bar, 01:35 **

A man walked into the Bar, the guy looked like an ordinary working man. The man wore coveralls, which was odd to the Bartender, 21-year-old Luke Saffold, because it was too early on a Monday.

When the man walked up to the counter, Luke could tell something was off about him. The borderline creepy smile that was a constant on the worker's face didn't help the Bartender's mental image either.

"What do you want?" asked Luke stiffly. The man, as if oblivious to the hostility the Bartender radiated, shook his head a smile on his face.

"No alcohol, my friend! By perchance, do you sell milk?"

'Is he serious?' Luke mentally sighed. "Y'know you can get milk at a corner store, right? This place is a bar."

The "working man" shook his head. Still smiling. "I'm not needed at a corner store, friend!" He exclaims enthusiastically. "I'm needed (slaps counter) right here!"

Luke looked at him as if he was stupid. "Ooookaay buddy, I'll go get you that milk."

When Luke disappeared into the back rooms, the man looked over at two fellow members of the Bar. The man and the woman were talking, obviously interested in one another.

'There are the targets,' thought the coveralled man. The still smiling man stopped leaning on the counter and walked over to them.

"Hey folks! I'm ah a little lost and was wondering if you could give me directions?" The sudden interruption caused them both to look at him frustrated. The man glared at him. "Dude, fuck off, man." He said with a sneer.

But still, the coveralled man's smile didn't waver. "I just need to find the nearest gas station, please!"

The woman sighed heavily in discontent, she pointed. "10 or so blocks that way."

The working man smiled at her and the man appreciatively, putting a hand on both of their shoulders. "Thanks so much, guys, sorry to bother you!"

He took his hands off while the two went back to talking, their eyes were different though — fewer eyes of lust, and more of sudden love. The man, a Cherubim, nodded in satisfaction. Another job well done.

He walked back to his original spot, a glass of milk sitting there on the counter. The Bartender was nowhere to be seen. He picked up the glass and chugged down the milk; he always loved milk, the molecules had a particular arrangement to them. It relaxed him.

He reached into his pocket and threw a couple of bucks on the Bar. He proceeded to walk out the door.

He was in the middle of the parking lot, about ready to use his wings when he was tackled violently to the ground. He was thrown to the ground so hard that he got disoriented. He felt strong hands force him up to his feet and up against a wall. His head was still spinning from the whiplash, so it took him a few seconds for his eyes to focus. When he saw who had shoved him, his eyes widened.

The Bartender, Luke Saffold, smirked at the shocked face of the Cherubim.

The lower classed angel tried to shove him off, but the angel's attempt stopped when he felt a sharp object at his throat. The angel's eyes looked down at the knife; the knife was a large bowie knife with a wooden handle with a brass crossguard. The blade glowed a faint blue at the tip that was touching his neck. The bringer of love's eyes widened, a Divine Weapon, this weapon could kill him.

The frightened angel stuttered out. "W-what do you want." Luke grinned.

"My mother Diana, and lady Venus send their regards angel."

"What?!, Olympians? I thought they were extinct. All killed thousands of years ago by Michael himself!"

The son of Diana chuckled. "You feathered fucks would think that, wouldn't you? But no, they excuse me WE aren't. We are coming back to retake our home from you invaders." Luke leaned in and whispered. "You are the Cherubim assigned to fighting men and women, aren't you?"

The angel did not answer; Luke proceeded to dig his large knife deeper into the angel's neck, drawing blood, the edge glowed brighter. "Y-yes!" the angel almost yelled. "Good, that means you're my target, you've been a thorn in the side of my Mother and Lady Venus for millennia. Affecting my Mother's hunters and forcing unnatural love upon people, Lady Venus hates unnatural love, and my Mother hates anyone fucking with her followers. Mars also doesn't have a strong opinion of you, in case you wanted to know."

The angel, at this point, was well and genuinely fearing for his life. "W-what are you going to do to me?" The angel whispered.

Luke looked at him like he was stupid. "You have to ask?" He then proceeded ever so slowly to drive his knife into the angel's neck. The vessel of the Cherubim screamed, his eyes and mouth suddenly glowed a vast and brilliant white that was over as soon as it started.

Luke looked at the corpse and smirked, too easy. He rolled up his sleeve and looked at his watch, 1:38, shit he was late. Luke wiped the blood on the body, slightly cleaning it of blood, and ran off into the night.

* * *

**January 16th, 1978**

**Lawrence, Kansas, Winchester Residence**

John Winchester awoke with a sweaty brow and heavy breathing. Something was wrong.

Something was very wrong.

He looked over to his wife, Mary Winchester, next to him. She was still asleep, her chest rising and falling gently with her breathing. She looked fine, the same beautiful face, the same beautiful hair. She was the same person as he fell in love with.

But she wasn't. What was wrong with her? Or was it him? Why did she look the same yet completely different? Her sleeping form was not answering.

He looked at the alarm clock. 1:38 AM, it said.

God, he was thirsty. He rubbed his throat. Very dry, exceptionally so. He got out of bed as fast as he could without waking Mary up.

When he got downstairs, he turned on the kitchen light. It took him a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the bright lights of the kitchen. He walked over to the glass cabinet and pulled out a large glass. He proceeded to fill the giant glass with tap water.

The kitchen light turned on. John jumped in surprise. Nearly dropping his glass in the process.

"Honey?"

John stared at Mary in surprise.

"What's going on? Why you up so late?" She asked tiredly, her eyes squinting at the kitchen lights.

"N-nothing. J-just getting water." The man stuttered out and proceeded to gulp down a glass of water. Mary walked over to him and hugged him.

"Ok," She mumbles, "Scared me."

John hesitates before hugging her back. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the discomfort he had hugging her.

It felt like hugging a stranger.

He gives her a forced smile. "Sorry for scaring you." She nods and walks back upstairs, groggily. "Ok, going back to bed."

John kept his forced smile on his face until she disappeared upstairs. When she was gone, his face instantly went into a frown. He leans over the sink.

"What the hell is going on," John whispers. Nothing had changed, John knew that. He still had memories of him loving Mary, hell he was in love with her when he went to sleep yesterday. John turned the faucet back on and splashed water on his face. He looks up.

He looks at his reflection in the window, John though he seemed perfectly normal. He didn't know how to describe it. It was like one of those fancy cameras filters the photographers in Vietnam talked about. But when he looked at himself, it didn't feel different like it was for Mary.

"So it's just Mary." The man mumbled. Was something wrong with Mary?

"No," John tries to convince himself. Maybe he was sick? He was exhausted. Perhaps it would all be better in the morning?

He nods to himself, then proceeded to walk back upstairs.

Let us say he got no more sleep that night.

* * *

**April 20th, 1978**

**Lawrence, Kansas, random Bar, 18:40**

Mary Winchester stormed into the Bar, she had a sneer on her face. She yelled at the owner/bartender. "Jeff! Give me something strong please! Preferably whiskey."

Jeff walked over, pulling out a glass from below the counter. "How much?" Jeff asks.

Mary glares at him. "So a lot," he whispers to himself. He fills up the glass full of Jameson and gives it to her.

"John again?" He asks her. She didn't answer, and she didn't need to. Mary had been coming in every night for a month straight; he didn't know the circumstances of their fighting; all he knew was that John and Mary Winchester haven't been getting along recently, and recently he meant months.

He leans on the Bar right in front of her "I'm here if you want to vent, part of the job description y' know?"

Mary's eyes soften. "Sorry," she murmurs. "But John he-" She hesitates eyes growing hard again. "Sorry, don't feel like talking about it right now."

Jeff looks at her and sighs. "There anything I can do?" Jeff asks. Mary points to her now half-empty glass. "Keep these coming please."

Roughly an hour passes, Mary thoroughly hammered at this point was thinking about her life with John. How John started acting strange around her a few months ago, how they hardly speak anymore with him always working, as if trying to avoid her. She hasn't had sex with him in months, hell he can't even be in the same room with her without him getting angry at her over even the smallest thing. It was almost like how he was when they first met.

She was going insane, was their relationship done? Was he cheating on her? She had so many questions and not enough answers.

A man walked over to her. She looked over to him and rolled her eyes. It was Owen Macleod, a redheaded Scottish drifter who had been trying to get into her pants for almost two weeks now. He sat right next to her and smiled at her. Mary had to admit, he may be annoying, but he had a hell of a smile.

"I'm not in the mood Owen."

He put on a mock hurt expression. "Oh come now, lass, I haven't even spoken a word yet."

Mary didn't even spare him a glance. "Because I already know what you're going to say."

The man looked genuinely hurt. "Oh come on, Mrs. Winchester, I'm not an all foam and no beer kinda guy!"

"Right, you are just a nice quality guy, aren't you, Owen?" She said with unmistakable sarcasm.

He nodded. "That's right, that's why I've come to make an offer because I'm a nice quality guy!"

Mary sighed heavily and started to drink the last of her whiskey. "What do you want, Owen?"

Owen Macleod suddenly got severe, and his eyes drilled to her face waiting for a reaction. "I know you are a hunter, Mary."

Mary's eyes widened, and she spat out her drink. She stood up looking ready to run. "Who or what the fuck are you?!"

All eyes in the Bar turned towards them.

Owen raised his hands slightly. "I'm not here to hurt you, Mary. As I said, I'm here to give you an offer." Mary backed up slowly. Jeff, the bar owner seeing Mary's duress, proceeded to come over. "Hey, Owen, what are you doing?"

Owen sighed and looked at Jeff and the rest of the bar patrons. "Sorry mate, can't have you bugging us." Owen raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

"_**Caidil a-nis!**_"

Everyone in the Bar, except for Mary and Owen, proceeded to fall asleep. Owen looked back at Mary's shocked face.

"Witch?" Mary asked. Owen nodded. "Yes, Mrs. Winchester, aye, I am a witch, but I'm not here to hurt you, if I wanted to I would have already."

Mary nodded in understanding, slowly calming down. Owen sat down and nodded toward the barstool she used to occupy. "Please sit lass."

Mary slowly sat down next to him. "What do you want?"

He looked over at Mary as if he was pitying her. "I know the reason why your husband, Mr. Winchester, has changed." Mary looked at him, wide-eyed.

"You do?" she asked, doubt in her voice. Owen nodded. "Yes, lass, I do."

"Then tell me what is wrong with my husband?" She asked, almost begging. Finally, someone had the answers she was she had been searching for!

"Mary, what I'm going to say may come as a shock to ya, but your and Mr. Winchester's love was not real." She looked at him as if he was insane. "Well YOUR love for Mr. Winchester is real, but not Johnny boys. His love for you was forced upon him by a Cherubim, an Angel."

"Angels? Your kidding. They don't exist," Owen shook his head. "No lass, they do. The Cherubim that made John love you died when the angel died; his "Blessing" vanished alongside the bastard. So there is nothing wrong with your husband, he has just returned to his original state."

Mary looked dejected. "So, John never truly loved me?" Owen shook his head again. "He did love you, Mary. The feeling of love was forced upon him, and now he has his true feelings for you again." Mary looked down, devastated. What was she to do? Was she supposed to divorce him? What was she to do?

"Here's the deal, Mary, I can make John love you again." Mary stared at him, wide-eyed, desperate, but also suspicious.

"In exchange for what?" Owen looked at her and wiggled his eyebrows. Mary couldn't roll her eyes fast enough. 'Sex?! Seriously?"

Owen just laughed with soft eyes. "Sex is the fun part lass, but what I truly want is a child of my own. My family has horrible luck with parents being the worst to their children, and after two and a half centuries, I think I'm wise enough to have one and make at least to raise one member of my cursed family not to be a horrible person."

Mary looked down at the countertop. Neither of them spoke for a solid minute. Finally, the man sighed and pulled out his wallet. He dropped a name card. "I'm not trying to force you into anything, Mary, and you can either keep going as it is, and it is real. Or I can work my magic, and you and John can go back to living your life, but it will be fake." He sat there waiting for an answer, when he didn't get one he sighed. He stood up and proceeded to walk out the door. "Have a good night Mrs. Winchester."

"Wait."

* * *

**January 24th, 1979**

**Lawrence Memorial Hospital**

All John could hear was his wife screaming in the other room, giving birth to their son. Oh, how he wanted to be in there with her, but the bastard doctors forced him out. Now all he could do was wait.

Seconds turned to minutes, and minutes turned to hours. After almost 12 hours passed, the screaming stopped. John waited with bated breath for the doctors to come out and tell him everything turned out fine. When the doctor came out, his head was downcast. No, what happened? He had said those words out loud.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Winchester, I truly am. But the baby was stillborn." The doctor's eyes were wet. "I'm sorry I'm so sorry."

John, not even acknowledging him, rushed past him towards the room Mary was. It took him a few minutes to find her, but it felt like forever. When John finally found Mary, she was sitting in a bed, holding a very still very quiet bundle. Her eyes were red, and tears were streaming down her eyes.

They stared at each other for a while, John trying to think of something to say. Mary finally broke down sobbing. John rushed over to her, tears in his eyes, and hugged her. "I'm so sorry, John, I'm so sorry!" Mary repeatedly sobbed over and over again. Eventually, she fell asleep. She was exhausted, both physically and mentally.

* * *

**January 25th, 1979, 01:30**

**Lawrence Memorial Hospital**

In the dead of night, the body of the young Winchester child separated away from its parents. Its body cold on the table with a thin sheet blocking its face from the outside world.

Next to the table, reality warped. A portal of some kind opened in the room, and walking out of the opening was Owen Macleod in the flesh. The portal proceeded to close behind him.

The room was silent. Owen looked at the sheet-covered body on the table. He walked toward it and lifted the sheet from the corpse. He looked down at the small body and smiled. "Welp, ladd, looks like my plan worked, didn't it?" The body didn't answer. Well we can't have that now can we? The man pulled out a marker, the marker filled with a blood ink mix was pressed upon the dead child's head. Owen then drew a Celtic Five Fold Symbol on his child's forehead, once that was complete Owen took his pocket knife and pricked his finger letting magical energy gather onto the blood drop forming on his finger. He let one drop fall onto his son's forehead in the very middle of the symbol.

Owen got down onto his knees and clasped his hands as if to pray.

"_**Tha mi gad ghairm, Fae. Tha mi ag ìobradh beatha an leanaibh seo airson beatha mo mhic!**_"

The dead body of his son on the table started to glow. In another room, light-absorbing darkness grew around a young newly born.

"_**Beatha Malairt airson Beatha, anam malairt airson anam!**_"

Suddenly the glow around his child died, but the cries now echoing from the child told him his son was very much alive. In another room, darkness stopped gathering around the child; his quiet cries now going silent. Never to be heard again.

Owen walked over to his crying son and picked him up. Owen's eyes started watering. He was beautiful.

"I had heard your mother was going to name you, Dean. I must commend the lass; she certainly knows how to pick names." The boy started crying harder. Owen put him on his shoulder, patting him on his back, calming down the baby. When his son finally went to sleep, he whispered.

"Welcome to the family Dean Macleod."

* * *

A/N

First chapter of a new series! Please I accept criticism, so please review!


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